


not broken, just bent

by Rhiannon87



Series: Some Sort of Crazy [6]
Category: Uncharted
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting back to work and real life after Lazarevic and Shambhala was just about as difficult as Elena feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not broken, just bent

**Author's Note:**

> Set between _catching planes and writing things down_ and the first and second scenes of _The Way We Break_. Originally posted as a chapter in Lost Trinkets.

Driving to the network’s office wasn’t anything new. Sure, she hadn’t been there for over a month, but that wasn’t too strange, either. She left, she chased down her story, she came back once it was done. All she had to do was get out of the car, walk across the parking lot, and go in the front doors.

The idea made Elena feel sick.

She sighed and leaned her head against the steering wheel. For all that she could try to tell herself that this was normal, nothing could be further from the truth. She wasn’t coming back with another story in the bag. She was coming back as a spectacular failure. No story, no big revelation about Lazarevic to share with the world. Just a trail of bodies in her wake, all the people she'd failed to save. And one of those people had had a lot of friends in that building.

Maybe she should have made more of an effort to go to Jeff’s funeral. She could’ve made it, if she’d pushed herself, if she’d split off from Nate and Sully and flown directly back home. If she hadn’t been such a coward.

Elena took a deep, steadying breath, then shoved the car door open and climbed out before she could think about it. The walk across the parking lot seemed to take no time at all, and she automatically tapped her badge to make sure it was safely clipped to her belt as she pushed the door open. The receptionist was on the phone as Elena passed; she did a double-take, her eyes going wide with surprise, then gave Elena a quick, almost pitying smile.

She just ducked her head and headed for the elevators. She wasn’t here long, just to talk to her manager, figure out what she’d be doing next. If she’d be doing anything. Elena didn’t exactly feel confident that she’d still have a job when she left. She’d fought for the Lazarevic story. Her idea, her request, her fault.

It was about lunchtime, so there weren’t quite as many people milling around the elevators. Elena just kept her gaze on the floor counter and ignored the few people who passed by. She didn’t want to know if they were staring at her or whispering about her. _Is she the one who got her cameraman killed? Is she the one who almost died? Is she—_

The elevator chimed, and Elena shook her head to clear it. They probably didn’t even know her, probably had far bigger concerns than her screw-ups. Still, it was a relief to be able to get an elevator to herself. She hit the button for her manager’s floor, then slumped against the wall and rubbed a hand over her eyes. Maybe being out of a job wouldn’t be such a bad thing. This was awful.

She straightened up as the elevator came to a halt. Walking the halls to Roger’s office went on auto-pilot, right up until she almost ran into someone. “Oh, I’m sorry—oh, Elena, I didn’t know you were back!”

Elena blinked, her brain a few seconds behind on recalling names and faces. “Ah, Caroline, hi,” she said. One of the sound techs on the news desk. Not somebody who’d worked directly with her or Jeff, thank god, just one of those familiar faces around the building. “Yeah, I’m not—I’m not quite back yet.” Elena managed a tight smile. “Going to meet with Roger now.”

“Oh, okay.” Caroline stepped out of the way and hesitated for a second before continuing. “I, uh… I’m sorry about what happened.”

Elena just nodded. “Thanks.”

“See you around,” Caroline called as Elena started down the hall again. Elena wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that— _maybe? we’ll see? do you really want to?_ —so she just waved over her shoulder instead.

Roger’s assistant wasn’t at his desk, so Elena just knocked on the door and poked her head in. He was in the midst of arranging papers on his desk and barely glanced up at her. “Come on in,” he said. “And close the door.”

Elena swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and stepped into the office. She sat down in the visitor’s chair across from her manager and laced her hands together in front of her so she wouldn’t start fidgeting.

Roger pushed the papers aside and turned to face her. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Normally, she’d have just said ‘fine’ and tried to move on, but she was pretty sure he actually wanted an honest answer. “I-I’m not sure,” she finally said. “Physically, I’m mostly recovered, but…” She didn’t even know how to start describing her mental state. Somewhere in the neighborhood of ‘overwhelmed with guilt,’ maybe.

He sighed and pulled one of the papers off the stack to his left. “This is a therapist who specializes in working with people who’ve been in war zones,” he said, handing the paper over. “Talking to him is not a requirement for you to go out in the field again, but I’d strongly recommend it.”

Elena nodded and folded up the paper without looking at it. It was a good idea, and she knew it, and she’d probably call once she got back to her apartment. But she didn’t really want to linger on it right now. “Thanks.”

Roger hesitated for a second before continuing. “Think you’re up to telling me what happened?” he asked. “I got the broad strokes version when you called, but…”

Elena sighed. This part, at least, she’d prepared for. She couldn’t tell her manager (or anyone, really) that they’d found Shambhala and a tree whose sap promised immortality. So she’d put together another version of events, one that ended with the same results—Flynn and Lazarevic dead, her badly injured by a grenade—but that didn’t involve lost cities and mutated humans. She’d gone over the censored version with Nate a few times, and he’d helped fill in any potential holes. It’d probably hold up.

But the parts about the rebels, about Jeff’s death, about the attack on the village, those she left alone. She wasn’t going to lie about that, certainly not to protect herself. She made it through the explanation with only a few pauses to collect herself. Not bad, all things considered.

Roger was slumped in his chair and rubbing his hand over his forehead by the time she was done. “Jesus,” he muttered. “So Lazarevic is dead for certain now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Not that I can prove it.” She shook her head. “No story.”

He shook his head. “That’s pretty low on my list of concerns.” With a sigh, he sat up and leaned forward on the desk. “Do you want to keep doing this?” he asked. Elena just blinked at him. “You’re not the first reporter I’ve had who’s ended up in a mess like this,” he continued. “You had a story, it got out of control, things went bad. Some of the reporters stuck around. Some decided they were done.”

Oh. Elena shook her head, hard. “No, I’m—I don’t want to quit,” she said. “I-I got in over my head, and I take full responsibility for what happened--”

“You shouldn’t,” Roger said. “Jeff chose to go with you. He knew what the stakes were, just like you.” Elena exhaled sharply and shook her head at the recognition of her own words. He was right, she knew that, but it was one thing to say it to Nate when she thought she still had a chance of exposing Lazarevic’s crimes to the world. Lazarevic was dead, and she didn’t regret that, but the way he’d died meant that she’d never be able to explain what had really happened. No one would be held accountable for letting him escape justice for so long. It was hard to feel like Jeff’s death hadn’t been in vain.

When she didn’t respond, Roger sighed again. “Take a couple weeks,” he said. “Get re-acclimated. Talk to the therapist if you want. If you’ve got any leads, put something together for a pitch. I’ve got a couple tips that’d probably be in your lane, too.”

“Much more low-key, I assume,” Elena said wryly.

“Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair again. “Call me in a week or so and we’ll talk about your next story.”

Well. That had gone better than expected. “Okay,” Elena said, nodding. “Okay. Thank you.”

Roger gave her a sympathetic half-smile. “You’re a hell of a reporter, Elena,” he said. “You’re smart, you’re dedicated, you’ve done a lot of good work. I don’t want to lose you on my team. If you change your mind, I’ll respect that, but I do want to get you out in the field again.”

Elena blinked hard, fighting against the sudden stinging in her eyes. “Thanks,” she said and cleared her throat. “I-I don’t think I’m going to change my mind. I want to keep doing this. I want--” to make up for all the damage done and the people she couldn’t protect, to find the other Lazarevics hiding out there and stop them before they get that far, to make a _difference_ , “—to get back in the field, too.”

“Good.” He nodded and got to his feet. “Now go home and get some rest. I don’t want to hear from you until next Monday.”

Elena stood and followed him to the door. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks again.”

For all Roger’s faith in her and her own renewed commitment, she still felt raw and wrung out. She took the stairs down to the ground floor—a long walk, but the mere idea of being stuck in a small space with someone who might try to talk to her was horrifying—and held herself to a brisk walk instead of sprinting to her car.

Once she made it, she slid into the driver’s seat, buried her head in her hands, and burst into tears. Going over the whole story again had taken more out of her than she’d expected. And being back in the offices, seeing the familiar places, remembering how excited she and Jeff had been the last time they’d been there… To say nothing of the lingering dread of what it would be like when she was there on a more regular basis. There’d be whispers and sidelong looks and invasive questions from people with more curiosity than tact, she knew it.

After a little while, she got herself back under control, then dug the paper and her phone out of her pocket. She made an appointment with the therapist before even starting her car. It seemed like the best plan, all things considered. The appointment was in three days, and as she drove home, she contemplated how best to fill up all that empty time. She had chores to do around the apartment, she knew that much, but there would still be a lot of hours without anything to do. She really didn’t want to see anybody from work right now, and that included her friends at the network. And her college friends were mostly in other cities. They wouldn’t really understand what she’d been through, anyway.

She pulled her phone out again as she walked to her building, typing out a text one-handed. _You free to talk?_

The answer came in the form of her phone ringing as she unlocked her front door. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Nate said. “Got your text. What’s up?”

Elena sighed and let the door fall shut behind her. “Went back to the studio today,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She threw herself onto the couch. “The good news is that I have a job, a couple weeks to start figuring out my next story, and an appointment with a therapist,” she said.

“That’s—that’s good,” Nate said, sounding a little uncertain. “Is there bad news?”

Elena let out a wet laugh. “Well, the fact that I _need_ an appointment with a therapist probably isn’t a good sign,” she said, blinking hard at the ceiling. “I just—I feel like hell.”

“I can come out there if--”

“No.” They’d had this discussion, several times, before she’d left his place to come back home. “You need to make some money so that you can _afford_ to fly out here. And I—I need to get my feet under me.” She didn’t need Nate to try to fix her. There was nothing to be fixed. She wasn’t broken. Dented and scraped up, yes, but she’d be okay. Having a couple weeks apart was something she’d insisted on. She loved him, she wanted him around more, but she needed time to sort her head out before they started trying to figure out how to make their relationship work.

Nate sighed, but thankfully, let the subject drop. “Any ideas for your next story?”

Elena shook her head. “Maybe,” she said. “I’d been starting to dig into this human trafficking ring in Ukraine when I stumbled across Lazarevic and went chasing after him instead. Might try getting back to that.” Probably not as low-key as Roger would like, but the kinds of stories Elena was interested in pretty much always had a threat of danger to them. That was sort of the point—she found out where people were doing harm and did what she could to stop them. Sometimes that meant being in harm’s way herself.

“Hmm,” Nate said. “Sully’s been talking about heading out to Romania, checking out some ruins out there. It’d be in the neighborhood, maybe we could meet up?”

Elena smiled wistfully. It was a nice idea, but… “I probably won’t be out there for a few weeks, at least,” she said. “Assuming I get a hell of a lot of research done before I officially go back to work.” Which actually had some appeal, now that she was thinking about it. It’d keep her busy, and it was an important story that she’d put on hold to deal with Lazarevic. Getting back to it would be good.

“Well, neither will I, probably,” Nate said. “Sully’s insisting that I take more time to recover before we go anywhere.” He scoffed, and Elena could just picture him rolling his eyes. “I was climbing around ruins four days after getting shot. I don’t know what he’s worrying about.”

“You probably shouldn’t have been doing all that climbing,” Elena pointed out. He’d tried to hide it, while she was staying with him, but she knew he’d been favoring his left side pretty heavily. The couple times he’d tried to start working out again had ended in cursing and ice packs.

Nate made a noncommittal sound. “Well, let me know when you’re gonna be over in that part of the world, anyway,” he said. “Or let me know when I can come see you.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. “I miss you, too.” This long-distance thing wasn’t gonna work, not anymore. They’d have to figure out something else. But not right now. Right now, she was going to lie on the couch and talk to her boyfriend and try to distract herself from all the stress and worry and guilt, if only for a little while. “So what’ve you been up to?”

“Not much. Chasing down leads, calling contacts, that sort of thing. Oh, and fixing my car.”

“What happened to the Jeep?” she asked. It had been working just fine when he'd dropped her off at the airport a few days ago.

Nate sighed. “It's a long story...”


End file.
